In the Long Run

Home party invitations invoke a sense of obligation and guilt in me. Over the years I’ve chafed at feeling obligated to attend home parties that offered everything from Tupperware to candles to stitchery kits. Avoiding guilt has frequently motivated me to agree to attend, and it has also invariably led me to buy items at the parties that I didn’t really need or want. I’ve been frustrated that I can’t stifle these feelings of obligation and guilt. Fortunately, the home party has almost disappeared due to the changing dynamics of our society. Or so I thought.

After a recent fitness class that I taught, one of the participants approached me. “I have a question,” she said, and smiled. I thought it would be about target heart rate zones or exercise intensity, which we had been talking about that day, and waited courteously for her to proceed.

“How would you like to be a model in my portfolio?” She was cheerful and positive, and didn’t even wait for me to answer. She continued, “I’ll work with you on your makeup, and then we’ll take a picture. You can use the photo for your business card—you have one, don’t you? And I can keep your picture in my portfolio. I don’t have a personal trainer in my portfolio yet—that would be great!”

I instantly smelled a rat…or a home party. A warning sign flashed in my brain as I recalled she was a representative for a cosmetics company. But I also felt those twinges of obligation welling up. This was a class member, after all. A person that I was supposed to nurture and encourage.

“Uh…what’s this for exactly, and how long would it take?” I was mentally kicking myself for starting to cave without any sort of fight.

As she described the “girly fun” we would have in our hour-long appointment to beautify me, I suddenly found my backbone. I confronted her as politely as possible, and smiled sweetly. “Is this session to introduce me to your products? I really don’t think I would be interested, thank you.” She persisted, but I resisted.

And she backed down! I escaped without committing to the session of cleansing, exfoliating, and freshening of the fine lines and pores of my aging skin. I suppose I could have used a makeover, but what if I’d then felt obligated to become a beauty consultant?! No, thank you. I don’t need, or want, a pink Cadillac.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:33 PM